


Missing You

by oisugasuga



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Domestic, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Oikawa misses his huband
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 10:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11712285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oisugasuga/pseuds/oisugasuga
Summary: Oikawa had sat there long after Suga’s silver hair and sweet smile had been lost from view, had sat in the muggy summer air and let the grumble of the crappy air conditioning system fill the silence, his work-shirt sticking to his back with sweat, his mouth uncomfortably dry, saccharine and stale, from his morning coffee.





	Missing You

Oikawa trudges down the sidewalk, his shoes dragging the ground.

 

He doesn’t care if the shiny leather scuffs or scratches.

 

His eyes burn from falling asleep with his contacts in last night, his fingers and wrists are aching from what he’s pretty sure is carpel tunnel, and complete and utter exhaustion drags at him.

 

To top it all off, it’s drizzling, a slow, warm rain that soaks the sidewalks and glitters off of the glass-faced skyscrapers of Tokyo.

 

And Oikawa has no umbrella.

 

And no subway pass. 

 

And no wallet to purchase a one-way ticket.

 

He had walked to work this morning too, already in a bad mood from a cup of dropped coffee and the corresponding stain on his tie, refusing to also be late for work just because he had been in too much of a rush to grab the essentials.

 

Oikawa sighs, pushes his wet bangs back from his face and blinks past the raindrops clinging to his eyelashes.

 

_"Today sucks,"_ he thinks glumly, his stomach rumbling from no lunch besides the random pack of tic-tacs he had found in the bottom of his briefcase.

 

Even Iwa-chan hadn’t been in the office today, out sick with a low fever and no appetite according to Kiyoko when Oikawa had called their apartment during his "not-lunch-five-tic-tacs" break.

 

Which meant no one to bother with paper airplanes thrown over cubicle walls, no one to whine to when the half-hour meeting had somehow stretched into a two-hour meeting and his boss had shouted at him over the phone for a project Oikawa didn’t even know he had been assigned to, no one to filch an umbrella and some cash from on the way home when the clouds outside the floor-to-ceiling windows had turned ugly and plum-colored, the first drops of rain splashing against the glass.

 

Yeah, today had been a shit-show.

 

The whole week had been a shit-show.

 

Oikawa grumbles to himself, dejected, wet, hungry.

 

He knows exactly why everything has been so crummy lately, even if he denies it to himself sometimes, to his friends when they tease him for it.

 

Oikawa kicks at a stray piece of trash, dodges an orange tabby as it streaks by in a blur of umber and disappears down a dark side-alley, watches the bright neon lights of the city smudge messily with the rain.

 

He misses his husband.

 

And he can’t deny that that’s why he’s been in a perpetual bad temper this week, why even the smallest inconveniences seem overwhelming.

 

Makki and Mattsun never fail to poke and prod at him whenever Suga is away on business, teasing with quick words and pointed looks and matching sly smiles.

 

_"It’s funny, Mattsun,"_ Makki will smirk. _"Oiks never gets this upset whenever we leave town. Or when Hajime goes on his annual trip to see his family in Kumamoto for a month."_

 

And Makki’s not wrong.

 

But Oikawa refuses to give in to those two.

 

He sighs, sidesteps a puddle on the sidewalk and ends up stepping in a bigger one, swallows down the slew of curse words that bubbles up his throat.

 

It’s ridiculous really.

 

Completely irrational because he shouldn’t miss Suga this much.

 

But Oikawa misses everything.

 

Misses the small sounds Suga makes in his sleep when he’s curled and tucked into Oikawa’s side, silver hair splayed over his pillow and pale fingers curled loosely in Oikawa’s sleep shirt.

 

Misses the edge of his smile when he thinks Oikawa isn’t looking, when they’re bantering and he lets it flicker over his mouth before he teases Oikawa again, cocking his hip to the side and leveling Oikawa with that look that means trouble.

 

Misses the sweet sound of Suga humming in the shower, voice blurry and warped by the rush of the water until Oikawa slips into the steam-filled bathroom and joins him under the spray, nuzzling into the wet column of his neck and inhaling the honey scent of his shampoo.

 

Misses the way Suga makes coffee for him in the mornings on the weekends, three tablespoons of sugar and a healthy dose of vanilla creamer the way Oikawa likes it.

 

Misses the way he fits perfectly in Oikawa’s lap when they binge-watch sci-fi movies late at night, resting back against him and twining their fingers together, the shoulder of his t-shirt slipping down on one side, revealing a scattering of moles that Oikawa ends up tracing sometimes, absentmindedly, the tip of his pointer finger brushing lazy strokes over soft skin.

 

Misses the arch of Suga beneath him when the other is flushed and panting and digging crescent marks into Oikawa’s shoulders with his fingernails and breathing hot against his mouth and _begging_ while Oikawa showers him with soft, slow words of affection, Suga’s bangs plastered to his forehead with sweat, every inch of him completely and totally Oikawa’s.

 

Misses the way he looks when he’s doing the most mundane things, silhouetted by the window with the sun streaming in and a book in his hand, eyebrows furrowed as he reads, one thumb hooked between his teeth in concentration. 

 

Oikawa misses all of it and so much more, misses things that he can’t put into words.

 

And yet, this past Monday had seen Suga disappearing into a crowd of people at the airport after Oikawa had kissed him goodbye in the car, Suga promising him he’d be back by next Tuesday, right after he had secured this deal for the publishing company he worked for.

 

Oikawa had sat there long after Suga’s silver hair and sweet smile had been lost from view, had sat in the muggy summer air and let the grumble of the crappy air conditioning system fill the silence, his work-shirt sticking to his back with sweat, his mouth uncomfortably dry, saccharine and stale, from his morning coffee.

 

He loathes weeks like this one.

 

His and Suga’s apartment building looms into view finally, familiar and towering in the rain, crammed between a warmly-lit ramen shop and the small park that their cat, ET, always likes to sneak off too when he slips out the living room window.

 

Oikawa walks up the stairs to the third floor, ignores the ache in his knee.

 

He’s going to shower, eat whatever’s in the fridge, and then fall into bed, sleep in because tomorrow’s Saturday.

 

And hopefully Saturday will pass by quickly, will be over and lead into Sunday and then Monday and then Tuesday, when Suga comes home.

 

Oikawa sighs again, fiddles with the lock on his front door and debates whether he even wants to shower or if he can just drop into bed like this, still clothed in his business jacket and slacks.

 

He’s exhausted, and the thought of being surrounded by the pillows and sheets that still carry the smell of Suga’s soap and the lavender scent of his skin is more than appealing.

 

The lock finally clicks and Oikawa swings the door open, making up his mind.

 

He’s just going to use the energy required to change into a more comfortable pair of clothes, to feed ET some of his favorite salmon-blend wet food, and then he’s going to throw himself into be-

 

"Surprise!"

 

Oikawa blinks once, twice, his thoughts cutting off abruptly, his briefcase slipping from his fingers and hitting the floor at the doorway a moment later, shock filling his chest, a sharp, quick, adrenaline-kick to his heart.

 

Suga is here.

 

In the hall that leads into their living room.

 

Wearing those jeans Oikawa adores and the alien-print shirt Oikawa had bought him for Christmas a couple of years ago.

 

Silver hair rumpled and messy around his face, his hands shoved into his pockets.

 

ET is winding around Suga’s ankles and bare feet, his ash tail twining around Suga’s calves, purring and mewing as if he’s been granted the greatest gift in the world.

 

Oikawa couldn’t agree more, is already over to Suga before he can fully register the soft smile on Suga’s face turning into a frown of concern, can hear the "Oh my god, Tooru, you’re soaked through."

 

He grabs Suga, wraps his arms around his shoulders and yanks him forward until they’re pressed together head to toe, Oikawa burying his face into the warm crook of Suga’s neck and breathing in deeply.

 

"Tooru," Suga squeaks, his arms trapped between them. "You’re _wet_."

 

"Mmm," Oikawa agrees, but he doesn’t let him go, just hugs him tighter and _breathes_.

 

And Suga relaxes against him despite the fact that Oikawa is practically dripping water all over the floor, frees his arms and hooks them around Oikawa’s shoulders, gentle fingers combing through the hair at the nape of Oikawa’s neck.

 

"Surprised?" Suga asks after a few moments of content silence, Oikawa letting the events of the day, the events of the past week, slowly bleed from his shoulders.

 

Oikawa makes a noise of agreement and nuzzles in closer, kissing the skin beneath his lips.

 

Suga strokes down his back, smooths out the wrinkles in his business jacket with soft fingers.

 

"I managed to convince my boss to let Asahi handle the deal," Suga explains, voice quiet and soothing. "Told him that Asahi could sweet-talk the devil if he wanted to."

 

Oikawa smiles at that and hums, plants a few more kisses down the column of Suga’s throat, feels ET brush against his legs.

 

"I missed you," Suga half-whispers a few seconds later and Oikawa pulls back to look at him.

 

Suga’s honey-gold eyes are wide and honest, his mouth curving up beautifully with that smile Oikawa loves the most, the one that’s reserved solely for him.

 

And it’s like the past week never happened, no spilled coffee, no forgotten wallet, no empty apartment.

 

Oikawa kisses Suga slow and lazy and content, cupping Suga’s face with both hands and relishing in everything, the small intake of breath Suga takes against his lips, the taste of him, sweet like he just drank one of those marble sodas from the neon-lit vending machine down the road, the slow part of his mouth and the languid slide of his tongue against his. 

 

"Me too," Oikawa says when they break apart, and when Suga smiles, bright and gorgeous, Oikawa knows he’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> day 2 of oisuga week: surprise
> 
> i feel like it's been an eternity since i last posted an oisuga fic, but here is my crappy excuse for the second day of oisuga week that i just spit out at 3 in the morning;;
> 
> (day 1 is currently under construction, but will hopefully be up soon, and eventually i'll get the other five days finished as well so wish me luck<3)
> 
> as always, thank you all for being amazing and sticking with me through "[these stars here on earth](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7817932/chapters/17842810)" and its hiatus(^～^)
> 
> [click me please](http://oisugasuga.tumblr.com/) (<\-- blog)


End file.
